


Thirteen Floors

by yo_yo_san



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Grooming, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Molestation, Mutual Masturbation, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2006-09-04
Updated: 2007-01-17
Packaged: 2018-02-10 23:05:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2043642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yo_yo_san/pseuds/yo_yo_san
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various short pieces featuring Marluxia and Naminé and, occasionally, other members of the Organization.<br/>Ratings vary from harmless to explicit, so I'm rating for the highest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking Life

**Author's Note:**

> Floor 1: traverse town, forget

Sora's got it easy. Once in a while, something will trigger a cascade of memories (RoxasRoxasRoxas Roxas had it easy, too, she thinks, but she doesn't know, because Sora doesn't share these things), but most of the time his head is quiet. For Kairi, something as quiet as a single cherry blossom will send her spiraling back into Naminé's thoughts and dreams. She kept one, a five-petalled piece of the past that she slipped into an envelope and put in the back of her dresser to remind herself of the tiny life that she didn't live. (Later, she also put in a small charm in the shape of the moon and a dark blue pencil the color of his eyes.) A small voice in the back of her head told her that the best way to move on was to stare at what you wanted to leave behind and walk backwards. She's been staring, and the images in her head aren't getting any dimmer. Instead, she's finding more and more detail each time she closes her eyes.

Marluxia, greeting her for the first time – so certain of himself, so self-sufficient and intense – and wanting, so much wanting hidden behind his smugly knowing smile. She was the one thing he needed to complete his claims to the throne. Her power over memories and her small fragile body under his --

Stop, she wants to say, don't make me look at that anymore. Let it fade, like old flowers do. Let it go. But that voice, that small voice like butterfly wings inside her head, it tells her to keep looking, lets her know that it gets easier with time. It's not that Kairi believes her, it's that it's just so hard to resist it. Pain shared is pain lessened? Is that how the saying goes?

Her chair, a throne like theirs, but in miniature, hidden away in the lower floors of the castle – and sitting on it, Marluxia, waiting. Beckoning (frightened, she tries to shy away, to unsee that subtle gesture, but she can't) to that little girl kneeling over a sketchbook in the corner. There are bruises on her arms, and more peeking out from under her white dress ---

Kairi knows those bruises, knows them all too well. Couldn't forget them if she tried. The voice in her head says, "It's funny, isn't it, how closely our marks mirrored each other. Almost as if, once placed on one of us, the universe wouldn't be satisfied until they were on both." She wants to laugh, or perhaps there are distant tears she'd rather shed, but both seem equally impossible.

His bed (they had beds, some of them. he did.) and him in it. The only place he'd spend the time to seduce her, to take her clothes off slowly, to let her hesitantly unzip his coat. She remembers those sheets, and the hard mattress beneath them with some fondness, something close to love. His hands were not so rough there, knowing that he had all the time in the world and no one would dare interrupt him. The first time had been there, with the sheets swirling around them like foam on the waves, his body, her body --

Kairi really doesn't want to know about these things, about his hands drifting like clouds over her skin, fingertips cold between her legs. She's got her own memories to contend with, and this isn't helping. She tells Naminé so, scolding her lightly, sort of joking, and the face in the mirror that doesn't quite match her own smiles. It will. It will. Just keep going, walk that path until the end.

_...and when you reach the end, stop._


	2. Calculations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marluxia, considering the future. Pretty harmless, really. ♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Floor 2: agrabah, wish

Every good castle needed a witch or a princess, and she was both and neither and suited his purposes admirably. He pressed one hand to her frail shoulder and led her inside.

He would let her explore for a while, let her shiver over the lonely spiral staircases from which you could fall and never reach the ground, watch her trail her fingers over the pearl white walls, and warn her not to touch the brittle marble bouquets of flowers. She would grow accustomed to following him here and there, to the gifts he would leave her, to his constant presence.

She would find comfort in having her tiny wishes granted, and would soon learn to court his grace with her pliancy. He would soon be able to decipher every iota of her being, from her charmingly disheveled hair to the daisies he had noticed her doodling with a finger in the dust. In time, he would master her power, and through her, the power belonging to the wielder of the Keyblade. 

After a short while, he took her to his room, tucked her into his own bed, and bade her sleep. He would give her a room of her own later. The opinions of the others were of little consequence. It was, after all, his castle, and she was his to keep.


	3. Paths of Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marluxia teaches Naminé how to touch him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Floor 8: neverland, innocence

She was too shy to look at him, though she was huddled naked in his bed, thin legs tangled in his sheets, blonde hair mussed by his fingers, lips swollen from his kisses. He had asked – told – her to touch him, and she had responded with a single finger patting along his arm, poking into his bare chest, too uncertain to know what he wanted. He smiled. He always enjoyed showing her the way he wanted her to do things.

"Naminé, look up at me." He lifted her stubbornly tucked chin with one finger, pinning her with his gaze. "Hold up your hand." She did, eyes wide and not precisely afraid. He took it, turned it over, stroked the palm with his thumb, then bent down and kissed her fingers, one at a time. "Like this."

He watched her stop breathing for a moment as he took her hand, his own cupped protectively around it, and pressed it carefully around his erection. "Very good. Now," he guided her in a subtle stroking motion, "like this." As a reward, he closed his eyes and gasped a little. She blushed and tried to pull her hand away, but he wouldn't let her. "No. Keep touching me, Naminé." He drew out her name as though it would melt like sugar on his tongue, rhyming with fey, say, pray. She closed her eyes and kept moving, shyly, tentatively, but with enough will that he moved his hand away, letting her stroke him on her own.

He took her other hand, leaving her stranded on her knees, almost in his lap, ready to tumble at any moment. "With this hand, no, don't stop. With this hand, touch me here," he set her hand over his breast, fingers flat over the nipple. "You may pinch very gently, if you like, and, if you feel adventurous, you may use your mouth."

He thought of her lips, her breath, soft and warm on his skin, and smiled. He was certain she wouldn't feel brave enough, though her hand was moving very nicely between his legs. She tucked her head into the crook of his neck, turning her eyes away – he knew that it was so she wouldn't have to know what her hands were doing. He allowed it, because she was doing so well, even with her attention divided. He leaned back a little, enjoying her childish attentions, liking the tiny kisses she whispered into his shoulder.

"Marluxia?"  
"Yes?"  
"What next?"  
He laughed, a warm silky sound that he knew made her tremble.  
"Only one lesson for tonight."

He slid one hand between her thighs, and she shivered for him. Higher, and a tiny noise escaped her, a shy fragment of a sound, half-hidden in his hair. He toyed with her for only a moment, then spread her apart and drove two fingers deep inside. She was already wet. This pleased him. She threw back her head, and this time her cry of mingled pain, arousal, and surprise was unmuffled. This also pleased him. He caught her eyes and smiled. She blushed, pale roses blooming across her cheeks, and looked away. To his delight, she hadn't taken her hands away from his body, and, though she paused, she soon resumed her hesitant motions.  
He exhaled sharply, as she did something, quite by chance, that felt particularly good, some motion with her thumb down the front of his length. He thrust his fingers into her body, luxuriating in the sensation.

"Keep doing that, but a little faster. Just a little."

She did, all docile obedience and soft whimpers, slender fingers working him with a growing intensity. He could almost taste the fragile scent of her sweat under the harsher smell of his own, and over it all, the distant scent of flowers.

He arched his back, using gasps and his fingers inside her to encourage her to a steady rhythm. She followed his lead, finding confidence in deep, distracted concentration.

Orgasm rushed on him suddenly, almost sooner than he had expected. He felt it rising, knew it would overtake him, pulled his fingers out of her slick warmth to hold her close, whispered her name into her hair and let it happen, spasming, as close to helpless as he ever could be, fluid spattering her hand, her legs, his stomach.

She slowed, stopped, tried to pull away. He wouldn't let her, smiling his approval into her shame-filled eyes.

"No, Naminé, don't look away. Look at me."

She did, blinking at him, eyelids made heavy by desire and fear. He took her wrist, lifting her hand, palm dripping with one proof of his bodily existence. He stroked the back with one finger, kissed it. She looked away, still so shy, so embarrassed by what she had done.

"Open your mouth, Naminé. I want you to lick your fingers clean."

She closed her eyes and her lower lip trembled. He let go of her hand. She obeyed him, wordless, though tears slipped down her cheeks quietly as rain.

He smiled. He enjoyed showing her the way he wanted her to do things, and never more so than when he could watch her innocence shred in his hands as easily as flesh under his scythe.

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a challenge from the marluxia-namine LJ community. I never finished it, but I'm considering making the attempt to do so.


End file.
